Heartland

By Lucy Hounsom

She came to protect a people, but she needs to preserve a world.

Kyndra has saved and damned the people of Mariar. Her star-born powers healed a land in turmoil, but destroyed an ancient magic – which once concealed them from invaders. Now Kyndra must head into enemy territory to secure peace.

She finds the Sartyan Empire, unstable but as warlike as ever. It’s plagued by dissident factions, yet its emperor still has the strength to crush her homeland. The Khronostians, assassins who dance through time, could help Kyndra; or they might be her undoing. And deep within the desert, Char Lesko struggles to control his own emerging powers. He’s been raised by a mercenary whose secrets could change everything – including the future and the past.

But when Kyndra and Char meet, will their goals align? Kyndra must harness the full glory of the stars and Char has to channel his rage, or two continents will be lost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pan Macmillan
• Release date: Aug 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781447268604

Lucy Hounsom

Lucy Hounsom works for Waterstones and has a BA in English & Creative Writing from Royal Holloway. She went on to complete an MA in Creative Writing under Andrew Motion in 2010. She is the author of The Worldmaker trilogy - Starborn, Heartland and Firestorm. Lucy lives in Devon.

Book preview

EPILOGUE

PART ONE

1

New Sartya, Acre

Hagdon

The emperor’s bedchamber was as lavish as the rest of the palace. Rare black ken – the little stones used as Acrean currency – gleamed from the walls where they had been used as common mosaic tiles. Most people preferred to keep their money in their purses, but the current Davaratch tended towards ostentation. Davaratch was the emperor who’d led Sartya to ascendancy centuries before; now every subsequent ruler took his name as royal title. This Davaratch was the twenty-first in his line and Hagdon found him reclining on top of the vast bed, surrounded by young men – all scions of noble houses. Their painted faces were careful, cautious.

General Hagdon of the Sartyan Fist looked away with a barely concealed grimace. The scene reminded him uncomfortably of his nephew; he couldn’t help but picture the circumstances in which Tristan had died. When he made his report, however, his voice sounded flat and emotionless.

‘Land to the east?’ the emperor asked, sitting up.

‘Uncharted,’ Hagdon said. ‘Our maps are useless.’

The Davaratch grunted and rose, shrugging into a robe. Standing, he towered well over six feet. An irritated flicker of fingers from his single hand sent the semi-clothed boys scurrying out of the door.

‘Have them disposed of, Hagdon.’ The emperor’s dark eyes were chill. ‘You ought to speak more carefully. I deplore the waste of young life.’

Cold gripped Hagdon’s belly. ‘Sire, nothing of import was said—’

‘Was it not?’ Those black eyes seemed to sink deeper into their sockets. ‘I will not permit such news to reach Khronosta.’

‘Our scouts report the land is in eastern Baior, sire,’ Hagdon informed him quietly, ‘on the other side of the hoarlands.’

‘There is nothing on the other side of the hoarlands.’

Hagdon hesitated. ‘You are of course right, sire, but—’

The Davaratch stopped him with a glare. ‘Get Shune. We’ll ask him.’

‘At once.’ Hagdon moved to the double doors, grasped a gilded handle. ‘His Imperial Majesty wishes to see the Relator,’ he barked at one of the red-mailed men standing guard outside. ‘Inform him.’

The soldier smacked his fist to his shoulder and hurried away.

For such a large man, the Davaratch moved softly. He was already poring over the detailed relief of Acre set in a corner of the room. Hagdon joined him, following the curve of the Ak-Taj Desert further east to Baior. It was a poor region of rocky earth where crops regularly failed. Peasants’ country. The hoarlands opened on to Baior’s eastern frontier and Hagdon suppressed a shiver – people tended to vanish there. He’d lost an entire regiment several years ago.

The Davaratch wet the tip of his finger and brushed it lightly across the map. With a fitful flicker, the relief came to life. The grain of the wooden rivers seemed to flow, winds stirring the skeletal leaves of the Deadwood. Sartyan banners flew above cities, marking their allegiance. Hagdon blinked, surprised the map still functioned. The energy that powered it – ambertrix, the lifeblood of Sartya – was nearly spent. Even the palace was subject to rationing.

The eastern end of the hoarlands began to smoke, grey wood dissipating to reveal a rich red hue beneath. Hagdon stared at it, his skin prickling.

‘Impossible,’ the Davaratch breathed, fixing his eyes upon the glittering sands. ‘No one’s seen the Sundered Valley in five hundred years. Why should it appear now?’

‘A question whose answer even you should learn to fear,’ a voice said.

Belying his size, the Sartyan emperor spun round, a black-bladed knife flicking into his hand. Its point arced to rest against the neck of the old man suddenly standing there, scrawny with the years. ‘Do not try your tricks on me, Shune,’ the Davaratch growled. ‘I wouldn’t hesitate to cut the life from you.’

As soon as the knife retreated from Relator Shune’s throat, the old man rubbed at the drop of blood it had drawn and frowned at the smudge on his fingers. ‘Such reflexes stand you in good stead, Majesty, but alone they will not save you.’ His pale, luminous eyes strayed to the map. ‘You are unprepared.’

‘For what?’ the Davaratch asked, irritation tightening the muscles of his face.

‘Change.’

A swift backhand sent Shune crashing to the floor. The Davaratch stood over him, stormy-eyed. ‘I won’t suffer your riddling. You will tell me what you know of this –’ he gestured at the Sundered Valley – ‘or I will find another use for you.’

Hagdon saw a fleeting hatred contort Shune’s face. The man had been Relator longer than he could remember. He’d served the current Davaratch and the one before him – and possibly even the one before that. Hagdon watched as the old man climbed unsteadily to his feet. Ignoring the trickle of blood that ran from his split lip, he said, ‘It’s Rairam.’

The room plunged into darkness. Hagdon’s heart leapt until he realized it was only the ambertrix lights failing once more. The Davaratch let out a grunt of displeasure and Hagdon swiftly searched his pocket for the matches and taper he had taken to carrying around. Once he’d lit the candelabrum on the dresser, he picked it up, spilling its glow across the map. The Sundered Valley caught the flames, held them covetously like red-glass beads.

‘Rairam,’ the Davaratch said finally, his voice hushed.

Shune nodded and looked at the map. ‘So, Kierik,’ he whispered. ‘You could not keep us out forever.’

The door crashed open and Hagdon whirled, a furious reprimand on his tongue, but it died when he saw who stood there, her red gauntleted fist on the handle.

‘Majesty,’ the woman spoke directly to the emperor, ‘we’ve found them.’

Sparks leapt in the Davaratch’s eyes. ‘Have the unit keep a distance,’ he said. ‘Are they aware of you?’

‘No, sire,’ the woman answered. She was clad in the same mail as the guards outside, except that her pauldrons were black and embossed with three hooded greathawks. Stealth Captain Iresonté. Her presence here could mean only one thing: Khronosta was found.

‘The whole damn temple appeared near one of the outposts on the Baioran frontier,’ Iresonté said. ‘It’s been two weeks and they’re still sitting there plain as day.’

‘Hagdon,’ the Davaratch snapped and Hagdon stood up straighter. ‘Choose your best men and accompany the captain into the field. I won’t take any chances.’ His lips thinned. ‘The Baioran frontier. This is not coincidence.’

‘The Defiant also have a base—’

‘The Defiant are a ragtag band of outlaws and the captain here already has a man inside. I doubt they’re foolish enough to meddle but if they do, take care of them.’ The emperor swept them both with his black eyes and Hagdon saw Iresonté flinch. ‘This could well be the day we have waited for. You have your orders.’

James, the Relator whispered in his head and Hagdon had to turn his startled jerk into a salute; he hated when Shune spoke to him this way without warning, the emperor’s obsession with Khronosta is blinding him to the real threat.

And what is the real threat? he answered, uneasy at the mental intrusion.

Rairam, the old man replied. We do not know the truth behind its return. It must be investigated.

I don’t take my orders from you.

No, Shune agreed in his hissing voice, you take them from the man who murdered your kin.

Get out of my head, Hagdon snarled silently, moving to join Iresonté at the door. He could feel the emperor’s eyes like twin blades pressing into his back.

‘General.’

He turned.

‘This is our chance to end Khronosta. I want the floors of that temple to run red. They will know what it is to stand against me.’

General James Hagdon had commanded the Sartyan Fist for half a decade. His men called him the Hand of Sartya. His enemies – and he’d made many over the years – dubbed him the emperor’s rabid dog. Today, he thought, as he trotted faithfully from the chamber, out to murder a people, the name given him by his enemies was the truer.

2

The Hoarlands, Acre

Kyndra

She stood on the black road that ran to the stars and watched him craft a world.

His skin was starlight, his dark blue eyes – so like hers – blazed with the power he bent to his will. He wasn’t the madman here, weighed down with lost centuries, but young, handsome even, and filled with righteousness. She watched him tear at time, twist the dimensions of the earth to his liking, and she screamed at him to stop.

When he turned his head and saw her, she shuddered but didn’t back away. Sigel was in his hands, a torrent of energy. Before she knew it, she reached for the star herself, tried to wrest its power from him. He snarled and fought her and she fought back, the world threatening to split apart under their struggle. She wouldn’t let him win, not when the Breaking would destroy all of Mariar and its people, not when she knew the future.

He faltered and she seized her chance, tearing the power away from him. He cried out, clutched his head, and she used Sigel to incinerate the walls he’d raised between worlds. Acre had to be whole. When he fell to his knees, screaming, she didn’t pause, but tore viciously into his bindings until they snapped and the world sprang back into shape.

The moment she relaxed her will, the power rushing through her began to burn. She tried to hurl it away, but the stars crowded into her head, eroding everything she was. Constellations scored her palms and she gasped as the scars flamed up her arms, over her chest and neck and into her mouth so that it filled with their names. She choked them back, desperate to hide from them. But they were her. She could not fight herself.

Kierik crouched before her, hands fisted against his head, howling like the madman he was. The fire consumed her, rolled out of her, broke like a wave over the lands of Acre and Rairam, burning everything in its path until there was nothing left but ashes and death and darkness.

Kyndra opened her eyes . . . and the fire was real, hot, stellar white. She became aware of her cramped limbs, curled into a ball on the ground. She was the fire; it surged in sheets down her back, rippling out to either side. Voices called her name. Between each wall of flame, she caught sight of familiar faces, lit with fear, alarm, horror.

No.

Kyndra closed her eyes, concentrating, until she could pull herself back from the brink. In her mind, she slammed the dark doorway that led to the stars and their whispers quietened. The fire died, shrinking back into her skin as if it had never been. When she opened her eyes again, it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. Tentative, the faces crept closer. Kait’s was suspicious; she watched Kyndra without blinking.

Medavle, the Yadin, was first to reach her side and then Nediah, who – after the briefest hesitation – dropped down beside her. Worry vied with wariness in the shadows beneath his eyes.

There was a faint chime and Kyndra turned her head to see Irilin, her skin alight with Lunar energy. Filaments clung to the novice’s hands; like cobwebs, they floated gently out to brighten the area. ‘Shielded,’ she said.

‘Kyndra?’ Nediah asked softly.

She sat as if sheathed in stone, staring at a patch of blackness beyond Irilin’s light. ‘Fine,’ she said, hearing her voice break over the lie. ‘I’m fine.’

‘This is the second time,’ Kait said. ‘Irilin can’t shield us all night.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Irilin looked shamefaced. ‘If I’d learned how to tie it off—’

Kait rounded on Medavle. ‘Can’t you help her?’

‘Kyndra has to help herself,’ the Yadin said coldly. ‘She has to stop fighting them.’

‘Never,’ Kyndra growled from between clenched teeth. A headache was pounding behind her eyes. ‘I don’t want them. I didn’t choose this.’

‘Your stubbornness will kill us all,’ Kait said and Nediah laid a reproving hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him irritably, but did not shake it off. ‘We have no idea what we’re walking into.’

‘You’re not in the Deep any more,’ Shika spoke from the shadows. ‘We’re capable of handling trouble.’

Kait glared at the novice. ‘What would you know of it, as well-fed and coddled as you are? Have you failed to notice that only one of us —’ she nodded at Irilin – ‘is a Lunar? And she can’t even tie off a shield.’ Irilin looked hurt. ‘We’re all but defenceless at night,’ Kait continued. She jerked her head at Kyndra. ‘And what help is a Starborn who refuses to use her power?’

‘You don’t understand,’ Kyndra said quietly.

‘Arguing will get us nowhere,’ Nediah headed off Kait’s retort. ‘She does have a point though,’ he said to Kyndra. ‘You’re making it difficult to keep our presence hidden.’

‘I know, Nediah,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It won’t happen again.’

Austri stirred beyond the dark door. It will, if you persist in fighting.

‘It’s not as if we’ve seen a lot of people,’ Irilin said in an obvious attempt to smooth things over. Her Lunar aura limned her hair and skin in silver. ‘I guess this place isn’t popular with the locals.’

Shika shrugged. ‘Would you choose to live out here?’

‘Someone shut the children up,’ Kait said. ‘What did you bring them for, Starborn?’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Kyndra allowed herself to meet each pair of eyes. Except for Medavle’s. She felt his gaze, inscrutable, judging. ‘I’ll stand watch,’ she said, ignoring the fact that she’d barely had any rest. ‘You can go back to sleep.’

She turned away before they could argue and, from the corner of her eye, saw them dropping back into their bedrolls. Kait had dragged hers a little closer to Nediah’s.

Kyndra stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat. It was to keep them warm, she told herself, aware that it wasn’t really. She didn’t want to look at her palms. She didn’t want to see the terrible patterns that marked her out as someone different . . . as someone dangerous.

She remembered the look of fear on her companions’ faces. To them a Starborn was a thing of horror; inhuman, implacable and uncontrollable. Kyndra thought of the frozen core buried in her chest, just beside her heart. Sometimes it felt larger, as if it would push the red muscle aside and take its place. Instead of blood pumping around her body, it would be power.

Kyndra shuddered. It was worse when she was alone. Then their voices would creep into her mind, echoing from an unimaginable distance. Some stars talked more than others and Austri was the worst. It was strongest at dawn, making it the first thing Kyndra heard upon waking. It called her out of dreams she didn’t want to lose: of her home, Brenwym, before the Breaking, when it seemed her life was full of sunlight and summer.

They had left the Wielder city of Naris yesterday afternoon and instead of letting night catch them halfway across the red valley, they’d camped on its fringes. The valley’s silence disturbed Kyndra. Even the birds were absent from the trees. No cricket chirped, no flies harried the horses. It was unnatural. Where is everyone? she wondered. A month had passed since Acre had returned. Surely Mariar – or Rairam, to give her land its Acrean name – could not have gone unnoticed this long?

Something was wrong. She just wished she knew what it was.

After an hour had dragged past, Kyndra glanced at the huddled forms of Irilin, Shika, Kait and Nediah lying behind her on the flinty ground; none stirred. The western sky was still and dark, but a pale light seeped in from the east. Under that watery glow, Medavle’s open eyes looked all the blacker.

Kyndra started. The Yadin sat with his back against a scraggy tree and she wondered how long he’d been awake. ‘Bad dream?’ she asked.

Medavle did not answer. Perhaps this place was reawakening memories he’d rather forget. Choosing not to probe, she said, ‘We’ll reach the valley floor today. How come we haven’t seen anyone?’

The Yadin regarded her silently for a moment before his eyes flickered beyond her to the valley. In the dim morning, the earth was the colour of old blood. ‘I have not seen this place in five centuries,’ he said softly. ‘Its soil wasn’t always red. So many died here. So many bled.’

A shiver passed across Kyndra’s skin. ‘You’re saying the soil is red because of their blood?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Medavle paused. ‘But the earth remembers.’

Kyndra looked into his stony face and decided it was safer to retreat to her previous question. ‘Don’t you think it’s strange that no one from Acre has come to investigate?’

Medavle slowly shook his head. ‘Perhaps they’re unaware.’

Kyndra wasn’t sure she believed him. She turned back to the valley. The sun’s first rays spilled rubies across the earth and she found herself transfixed by the sight. Austri’s wordless whispering lessened.

The others were finally beginning to stir. When Kyndra glanced round, she saw Nediah sitting up, staring down at Kait, cat-curled beside him. The woman slept with one hand on the dagger in her belt, but despite the pose, her face was peaceful. Sleep softened the lines that cynicism had worn around her lips. Nediah watched her a moment longer and then he turned away, his face carefully blank.

Kyndra busied her hands with breakfast, avoiding the stares she could feel. Her lack of a plan gnawed at her. On the one hand, it was foolish to walk brazenly into the unknown, knowing nothing of Acre’s powers or politics. But staying in Mariar was worse. What if Acre’s idea of a greeting was to invade first and ask questions later? Hundreds of thousands of lives depended on what she did next.

‘How are you feeling today?’

Nediah had come to stand over her, the Solar power glimmering in his eyes. He was dressed for travel, looking much like he had when they’d first met in Brenwym, when all she had to worry about was the coming-of-age ceremony. Kyndra stared at the familiar shape of his face and some of the knots in her stomach loosened. ‘Fine.’ She smiled.

Nediah did not look convinced. ‘You stayed awake most of the night,’ he said reprovingly.

She tried to ignore the tired prickle in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, Nediah,’ she confessed, keeping her voice low. ‘Everyone’s looking at me to decide, but I don’t know the first thing about leading a mission, about armies or politics, or any of that.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m an innkeeper’s daughter, not a strategist.’

Nediah studied her a while before answering. ‘You don’t give yourself enough credit, Kyndra. You worked out how to stop the Madness from killing every Wielder in the citadel. You saved Mariar from the Breaking.’

‘The Madness was my fault,’ she reminded him bitterly. ‘If there hadn’t been two Starborn in the world . . .’

It was Nediah’s turn to shake his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself for existing. You could just as easily blame Medavle for having meddled in your birth. And the Breaking was getting worse anyway. Brégenne and I saw –’ He faltered, as if her name had stolen his words. After a moment he said quietly, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Heads up, Ned!’

Nediah stiffened and only just turned in time to catch the bread Kait threw at him. He stared at her unreadably, and the hand holding the bread fell to his side. Kyndra looked at them both, feeling how tense the air had become. Finally, Nediah folded himself up to sit on the ground and Kyndra hastily passed him a tin mug full of tea.

Irilin was up and staring out at the valley. She shuddered once and turned away. ‘There’s . . . something down there,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Something doesn’t feel right.’

Kyndra gazed across the red strip of land. Not wide, but long, it tapered to a forested ridge at its western end. Perhaps they could cover it in half a day. She held herself still, blocked out the others’ conversation and listened.

Only eerie silence answered.

Shika came to stand beside them. ‘What do you think Gareth’s doing right now?’

‘It’s barely been a day, Shika.’ Irilin raised an eyebrow. ‘You missing him already?’

Shika flushed. ‘No. Just wondering. I hope Master Brégenne finds a way to remove the gauntlet. Before we left, Gareth said it felt different.’

‘I can’t believe you two were stupid enough to steal it from the archives,’ Irilin said. ‘Didn’t you think it was locked away for a reason?’

‘So we made a mistake,’ Shika retorted. ‘Gareth shouldn’t have to suffer for it.’

‘Kyndra,’ Nediah called and she turned. The others were staring at her expectantly, Kait with her arms crossed, Medavle his dark eyes distant. He seemed changed from the person of a month ago, as if the fire of vengeance that had sustained him for five centuries had died with Kierik. Kyndra didn’t like the way he looked at her now, as if she were a constant reminder that the last Starborn had killed the woman Medavle loved – a Yadin like him. I’m only here because of you, Kyndra thought, I’m here because you wanted Kierik dead.

‘If we’re to construct a picture of Acre’s infrastructure,’ Nediah said, jerking her back to the present, ‘the first thing we need is maps. We have to get an idea of Acrean geography, its major cities. Medavle says his memory won’t suffice.’

Maps. It was the sort of thing she’d have mentioned sooner, if she’d been any real kind of leader. Kyndra felt her cheeks warm. ‘Of course,’ she said.

‘Many of the cities I remember will no doubt be gone,’ the Yadin said, ‘but the region beyond the valley was called Baior. It’s mostly farmland, no large settlements.’

‘We need to know who’s in charge,’ Nediah continued, ‘whether it’s Sartya, or some other power. Do they have use of the technology Medavle remembers? What about Wielders and their role here?’ The Wielder ticked the questions off on his fingers and then spread his hands. ‘We don’t know whether we even speak the same language. If our ultimate goal is to protect Mariar’s interests, we need to know what to bring to a possible alliance.’

Kyndra blinked at him, feeling more stupid by the second. She should be the one asking these questions. It was obvious Nediah would make a better leader; she could see it in the others’ faces. Anger flared in her. Why had they dumped this role on her shoulders?

When it became apparent that they were waiting for her to speak, Kyndra swallowed her feelings and said, ‘Then that’s what we need to do. As long as we can understand each other, the first people we find should be able to answer a lot of our questions.’

‘What will we say when they ask us who we are?’ Irilin said from behind her. ‘If it turns out we don’t speak the same language, they’ll never believe we’re from Acre.’

Kyndra saw Nediah open his mouth and quickly forestalled him. She had to contribute something. ‘Let’s tackle that hurdle when we get to it. Any town or village near here can’t have failed to notice Mariar.’ As she said it, she felt another flutter of disquiet. It was odd that nobody had come to investigate. She wished she knew why.

‘Let’s get started, then,’ Kait said decisively and went to ready her horse.

Before she saw to her own, Kyndra moved to speak with Nediah. ‘Thanks,’ she said, too softly for the others to hear. She stared at Uncle’s flank instead of the Wielder. ‘I’m not very good at this.’

Nediah didn’t ask her what she meant. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he said and Kyndra looked up at him. The morning sun brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and a memory came to her of sitting beside him and Brégenne as he used the Solar power to cook them breakfast. Brégenne, she recalled, had strongly disapproved.

‘I’m sorry for taking you away from Brégenne,’ she said impulsively and then regretted it when Nediah’s expression hardened.

‘Leaving Naris was my decision,’ he said.

There was a lump in Kyndra’s throat. ‘Thank you for coming with me.’

Nediah patted her shoulder, but his answering smile seemed in danger of slipping. ‘You certainly keep life interesting.’

Kait was watching them. She watched Nediah a lot and Kyndra felt a wave of protectiveness. She hadn’t forgotten her promise to Brégenne, the promise she’d made the night she and Nediah had accompanied Kait into the Deep. I will look out for him. And she would, Kyndra vowed, darting an inimical look at Kait before going to her horse.

It took her two attempts to mount, and not for the first time she wondered why Medavle had chosen such a tall horse. The black stallion danced restlessly beneath her. He ought to have a name, Kyndra thought. Perhaps something out of the old stories.

As she led the way down into the valley, talk struck up behind her, lightening the mood. Her companions seemed to have forgotten their near-roasting last night. Kyndra wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. What if it happened again, without warning? What if she burned everyone while they slept?

Better you do.

Sigel was a sudden furnace in her head. Kyndra tried to mute the star, but she couldn’t block it out altogether. Shut up, she snapped at it, clenching her fists. Leave me alone.

The trail was wide enough for two to ride abreast and she found herself next to Irilin. The novice’s dappled mare was much better suited to her size. This morning, Irilin’s long blond hair spilled over a leather jerkin and shirt with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The glow coming off the earth rouged her pale cheeks.

I should stop thinking of her as a novice. By choosing to leave Naris, both Irilin and Shika had sacrificed the opportunity to complete their training as Wielders. They would never be masters in the eyes of the citadel. Choose carefully, Alandred had said to them upon hearing of their wish to accompany Kyndra into Acre.

Kyndra looked sidelong at her friend. She wasn’t at all sure the novices had chosen carefully, but she couldn’t deny that she was glad of their company.

The sun was fully up by the time they reached the valley floor. Kyndra stared at the forbidding place, Irilin beside her. ‘I don’t like it,’ the young woman said, tugging her sleeves down as if she were cold.

‘Makes my skin crawl,’ Shika agreed and Kyndra tried not to voice her own misgiving. She wondered what Medavle had meant about the earth remembering. From here, the valley’s many small mounds looked like blood-drenched cairns. Kyndra shook her head, trying to dislodge the image.

Kait snorted at their apprehension, urging her mare on. The horse whinnied as its hooves kicked up the red dirt. Kyndra studied the woman’s back, wondering at her reasons for coming. Was it to forge a new purpose after her master’s death? She’d been Kierik’s protector for fifteen years, ever since she’d sworn an oath to the rebel Wielders, to the Nerian. Now that an uncomfortable peace existed between the two factions, perhaps Kait felt she needed another purpose. Kyndra glanced at Nediah. He was looking at Kait too, his brow deeply furrowed.

They moved further into the valley and conversation gradually died. Something about the place discouraged talk. Like not speaking at burial rites, Kyndra thought with a slight shudder. No wind blew, no animal called. Preceded by the creak and jingle of harness, their little group was the only thing that moved. Clouds seemed nailed to the sky and the sun hung over their heads with a dim, ponderous weight.

Despite their unease, they encountered nothing but the sick, stunted bushes that grew between the mounds. Two hours later, just short of the valley’s lip, Kyndra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Irilin seemed relieved too and gave Kyndra a weak smile.

Then, up ahead, Kait burst into flame.

Nediah yelled and pushed his horse after her, but when he reached her side, the air around him ignited too. Kait’s mare reared and, as she made a desperate grab for the reins, the animal bucked and threw her. Still burning, Kait rolled away from the dancing hooves, lurched to her feet and snatched at her mount’s bridle before she could bolt.

Shika was the third to become a human torch. He almost fell off his horse in his hurry to dismount and Kyndra saw in his panicked face the same confusion that troubled Kait and Nediah. ‘What’s going on?’ he cried.

If someone were to see them now – three figures wreathed in fire – they could be forgiven for believing that they’d walked into a nightmare, but Kyndra was used to the golden glare of Solar energy. The question was – ‘Why are you drawing power?’ she called.

‘Can’t help it,’ Kait grunted, her face creased. ‘It . . . won’t . . . shut . . . off.’

Nediah’s look changed from confusion to horror. ‘Something’s taking it,’ he said, his green eyes sweeping the empty landscape. ‘I can feel it using me. Like a conduit.’

Irilin sat tensed on her mare, but nothing happened to the slight girl as far as Kyndra could see. ‘I feel something,’ Irilin said. ‘Like hands in my head.’ She shuddered, her eyes widening. ‘I think it knows I can channel the Lunar, but it can’t reach it, not while the sun’s up.’

It was then that Kyndra saw the skull, half hidden by the thorny branches that pushed through eye sockets worn smooth by time. She stared, her gaze raking the ground. After that, it was impossible not to see the others.

They were in the middle of a charnel yard. Half buried and bleached, the flesh long stripped, there were fingers reaching through the sand, tibias, femurs and scapulas strewn about with no sense or order. Kyndra followed the arch of a human spine as it surfaced, curved and dived back into the earth like a sand snake. Cold sweat trickled down her neck.

‘There are bones,’ she said grimly, but Medavle had already seen them.

‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Move.’ Kyndra couldn’t miss the warning in his voice. Kait and Shika tried desperately to calm their horses, but the brighter the Wielders burned, the more terrified their mounts became.

‘We’ll have to lead them,’ Kait said from between clenched teeth, as she struggled to hold her horse in check. ‘Perhaps it will stop once we get out of the valley.’

Kyndra’s stallion seemed unfazed by the three burning figures. She patted him gratefully and he broke into a walk without prompting. They managed another half-hour, but their pace was slow and the terrain difficult. They were on the slopes now, pathless and steep. Shika’s breathing grew strained and Kyndra heard him drawing great gulps of the thick air, his face visibly paling. Kait and Nediah were holding up better, but both looked haggard.

‘I can’t take much more of this,’ Nediah rasped after another ten minutes. ‘I’ve never drawn this much power for so long.’

‘Master . . . Master Rush told us we could burn ourselves out by . . . drawing too much,’ Shika panted. ‘That’s not true, is it?’ For the first time, he looked genuinely frightened.

Nediah shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

Kyndra felt helpless. She glanced at Irilin and saw that her friend’s knuckles were white on her reins. Medavle’s gaze raked the landscape, searching for their invisible assailant.

Then, as if snuffed by a vast hand, the flames died and the three Wielders drooped like cut puppets.

The air burst open.

3

The Baioran Frontier, Acre

Hagdon

Remarkable, Hagdon mused, gazing at the distant temple that was Khronosta, its domes and towers looking as fragile as spun sugar. The structure was unfortified, without moat, drawbridge or battlements. In theory, it was a besieging army’s dream. In reality, it had never been captured. There was no point to a moat or reinforced walls when the temple and all its inhabitants could simply move elsewhere at the slightest threat. Or else-when, Hagdon corrected himself.

‘They need time to prepare their ritual,’ Iresonté said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘I don’t intend to give it to them.’

‘Time is their greatest weapon,’ he replied, his eyes still on the temple, wondering what was going on inside. The Khronostians weren’t usually so bold; they never stayed in one place longer than a week. ‘Perhaps they don’t intend to flee,’ he murmured.

‘When has Khronosta ever done otherwise?’ Hagdon heard the sneer in Iresonté’s voice and finally turned to look at her. She was a striking woman, dark-haired with the pale skin and paler eyes common in the north. A cruel woman, too, and not one he wished to make an enemy of, but she seemed to take offence at every word out of his mouth.

‘I wouldn’t be much of an officer if I didn’t consider the possibility.’ He touched the scar on his lip, an uncomfortable reminder of the last time he’d engaged the du-alakat, the assassin-warriors of Khronosta. ‘Perhaps they feel the time has come to fight.’

Iresonté gave a reluctant grunt of agreement and turned away.

‘General.’ Carn, his bondsman and friend, staggered over, balancing a clattering stack of armour.

Hagdon reached out to steady the pile before it fell. ‘Why do you insist on carrying it all at once?’

Carn grinned and might have shrugged save for his precarious burden. He had a pleasing, open face that was just beginning to crease at the corners. His cropped hair was grey; Hagdon couldn’t remember it being otherwise. Carn had served as vassal to his father and was the only person Hagdon could bring himself to trust.

‘Are you sure about this, James?’ Carn asked as he fitted the red plate Hagdon had come to see as a second skin. ‘An assault on Khronosta?’ He glanced darkly in the temple’s direction. ‘It may be a trap.’

Hagdon grimaced, shrugged the left pauldron into a better position. The armour seemed to weigh more every day. ‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘But orders are orders and they’ve been out in the open for weeks now. We may not get another chance. The emperor believes they’re behind the ambertrix shortage.’

‘How so? Where does ambertrix come from?’

Hagdon shook his head. ‘The best-kept secret in the empire. Only the emperor and his Thabarat technicians know and he’s worked hard to keep it that way.’

Carn secured the cloak to Hagdon’s shoulders and passed him the Sartyan general’s monstrous helm. Hagdon held it between his hands, staring into the eye holes. How many people had he killed while wearing it? Its bloody snarl would have been the last thing they saw in this world. Once, that had meant something to him. Now he felt nothing.

‘Just . . . be careful, James.’

‘Will you ever stop worrying over me?’

‘If you’d only manage to find yourself a partner, I wouldn’t have to.’

Hagdon shook his head. He tucked the helm under his arm and went to brief his officers.

It was a force of five hundred, chosen from the best of the Fist, that he led to the temple after sunset. The terrain favoured them, the rocky Baioran landscape offering cover almost to the foot of the low bluff on which the temple stood, looking incongruous amidst the arid landscape. His soldiers were ranged around the bluff, awaiting his signal, while Iresonté’s agents prepared to scale the walls, using the delicate carvings on the exterior as footholds. Hagdon traced a serpent with his eyes, following its body as it twined around a great wheel. The spokes were numbers, he saw, and each was part of a further wheel and further spokes until he lost sight of where he’d begun.

Once Iresonté’s agents were inside, they would open the gates for the rest of them. It would be quick and clean. In and out. Supposedly. But Hagdon hated to rely on stealth. More particularly, he hated to rely on men and women who weren’t his own. The temple’s obvious lack of defences disturbed him. It was almost too obvious.

No matter his disquiet, the attack would go ahead. If it didn’t, if they failed . . . he remembered the emperor’s eyes and suppressed a shiver.

‘There’s no need for you to risk yourself, General,’ Captain Analia whispered, as they awaited the signal. ‘We have our orders and Stealth Captain Iresonté’s agents are the best in the empire. She’s taking the field herself.’

Hagdon stiffened. ‘She is?’ It wasn’t what they’d agreed.

‘Captain Dyen saw her leading the group who’ll scale the walls from the west.’

The unease swirling around Hagdon’s belly grew stronger. While it was common military sense to realize no plan ever survived first contact with the enemy, he always ensured he went into battle with full knowledge of his troop placements, his own strengths and weaknesses – and the enemy’s. There was already too much they didn’t know about Khronosta. He’d have preferred to wait, to gather more intelligence, but the Davaratch was not known for his patience. Khronostian assassins had taken out too many key players in court, not to mention how close they’d come to infiltrating Thabarat, the ambertrix college of research. Hagdon should be relishing this opportunity to even the score. Instead he felt cold all over. This was wrong. And he never ignored his instincts.

‘Captain,’ he said quietly. ‘When we move on the gates, I want you to take half your company round to the south. The other half charges with me.’

Analia gave a single sharp nod. If she wondered why the plan was changing at the last minute, she kept it to herself. ‘Stay out of Iresonté’s sight,’ Hagdon added. ‘If I have need of you, I’ll send up a flare.’

As if to punctuate his statement, a green shower of sparks blazed overhead, burning brightly for a second before fading. ‘Iresonté’s agents are in,’ Hagdon said, nodding at the signal. See you on the other side.’ Analia saluted